I Still Dream Of Organon
by oconnellaboo
Summary: Set during Lysergic Acid Diethylamide. Walter Bishop is used to dealing with his own madness, but can he handle it when his beloved son Peter has a bad acid trip?  One Shot.


**I Still Dream of Organon**

_Many thanks and virtual hugs to my Beta, the mighty __**DixieGirl256**__, who also inspired me to write and publish (first time ever!) this one-shot. There's just not enough love in either universe for the Bishop Boys, so here's my contribution…set during _Lysergic Acid Diethylamide_._

Madness, Walter Bishop believed, has its advantages. It allows one to indulge in flights of fancy, to imagine impossibilities, to suggest things so preposterous that a sane man would be shouted down in a nanosecond. But a madman is humored, appeased, indulged. Sometimes, even, a madman is celebrated for finding connections where none seem to exist. Madness, indeed, can be the very progenitor of logic. And no matter how insane the world can be, logic will prevail. Walter wanted to believe that – everything happens for a reason.

Inside every genius, Bellie used to say, there's a bit of madman. Walter liked that. It made him feel invincible. It made him feel… like God.

But at this very moment, Walter Bishop – the genius, and the madman – felt anything but God-like. He'd woken up after his "death," in Olivia's consciousness feeling refreshed, as he usually did after an LSD trip; his only regret was leaving Peter and Bellie to do the heavy lifting in trying to restore Olivia's consciousness.

However, after devising a brilliant plan to capture Bellie's consciousness in a computer, thus freeing Olivia of his presence in her mind, he had broken a vital piece of equipment. He'd just figured out an almost equally brilliant workaround, and had given Astrid his "shopping list," of components, when he saw her stop near the machine monitoring Peter and Olivia's brainwaves. "Astral, you must hurry, please, dear. I need – "

"Walter, something's wrong with Peter," Astrid said softly as she nodded toward the reading on the monitor. Indeed, Peter's brainwaves were jumping wildly, consistently breaching the normal level.

He looked at the monitor, and was about to speak, when Peter nearly jumped out his seat with a gasp, tearing at the electrodes on his head as though they were on fire, his eyes wide and unfocused.

Walter rushed over, placing a gentle but restraining left hand on Peter's forehead, while grasping his arm with his right. "Peter! Peter… Peter!" he called, his son's name like a mantra as they wrestled. "Peter… Peter! Peter, it's okay. Calm down, son…"

Walter tried to pull his squirming son to him, but Peter struggled to tear himself away. "Walter! Walter, she's here. I found her! She's here!" His eyes wild with terror, Peter clutched at the back of his father's shirt, and pleaded, "I gotta go back, Walter... "

"Shh… Shh… " Walter whispered as Peter turned his panicked gaze to where Olivia lay in what looked like a peaceful, albeit LSD-induced, slumber.

"I gotta go back. They're gonna get her… " Peter repeated, still clawing at his father like a drowning man.

Walter looked into Peter's terrified eyes, and what he saw took his breath away. _I've seen this terror in his eyes before, _he thought_. __But he was younger then… so much younger. And it's my fault again._ He gathered Peter close to him like a small child and rocked him.

"Walter," Astrid interjected, "What do I do?" He looked over at the young FBI agent, her face the picture of concern. Astrid was very dear to Walter, not just because of her intelligence and patience, but because of the very real affection she showed toward Peter.

"Nothing, dear, nothing," he replied, still rocking Peter to calm him. "All we can do is wait. It's up to Bellie now." He turned to his son, who was hyperventilating and spastically clutching at Walter's shirt. "Come on, breathe. In and out... "

Walter held him still closer, drawing Peter's head against his chest. "Hey… hey… " he soothed. "Hey… "

"Oh… " Peter breathed. "I lost her." He rested his cheek against Walter's chest. "I lost her… "

He patted Peter's hair. "Nonsense, son. She's right here." He turned them both toward Olivia slightly. "See? She's just fine. Bellie will help her."

"No, no, no, no… " Peter protested, burrowing his face into Walter's shirt as though trying to hide. "I failed. I let her down… I always let her down… " Suddenly, Peter looked up into Walter's face. "But I knew, Walter! I knew it wasn't her. I looked in her eyes, and I knew this time. Not like before… and we ran, but I couldn't hold on… and I failed… "

Walter ran his fingers across Peter's damp forehead, wiping the sweat away. "You did no such thing. You did a wonderful job. You found her, Peter. She let you find her. Only you." Peter seemed to be focusing a bit more, and Walter nodded and smiled at him. "See? You were so brave, son, I'm very proud of you."

Walter felt a violent shiver run through Peter's body, and he touched Peter's face again with the back of his hand. "Oh, my, you're freezing. Astrid, would you please get a blanket? He's shocky, possibly borderline hypothermic."

"Sure, Walter," Astrid said, her eyes not leaving Peter as she headed toward the back room.

Peter's eyes darted around the room as Walter took his face gently in his hands again. "Hey, there," he said, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. "It's gonna be okay, hmm? Look at me, now. Peter. Look at me. You're gonna be fine." He watched Peter's brow furrow, the crease in his forehead growing deeper as tears filled his eyes. "Peter? Son, listen to me. Peter, what's wrong?"

Peter cocked his head slightly, and looked down at where his hand rested against his father's chest. "Can you hear it? I can hear it."

"Hear what, kiddo?" Walter asked, using a pet name he hadn't used since… since _his_ Peter.

He started rocking a bit, and then began to hum. He stopped for a moment and stared into nothingness. "I hear it. It talks to me. Calls to me. Tells me… things."

"Peter?" Walter said again, giving Peter's head a slight shake to get his attention.

"One of these things is not like the others… " Peter sang softly, repeating the line a few times before adding, "One of these things just doesn't belong… "

Philip Broyles had been staring at the scene before him, his mouth agape in his own LSD stupor. Taking a step closer, he pointed at Peter. "He's wrong," Broyles declared. "He's all kinds of wrong." He took another step, nearly poking Peter in the chest. "You're one of _them_, boy," he spat at Peter.

Peter clung to Walter, mumbling, "NoNoNoNo… " as Broyles loomed closer.

"Get back!" Walter roared, raising his hand, palm out in a warning gesture. "Stay the hell away from my son," he said in a softer, but even more ominous, voice as he gathered Peter to him again.

Broyles stepped away immediately, but smiled a wicked grin, and said, "But he's _not_, is he?"

"I'm not," Peter echoed. "I'm not. Not _here_. I'm not _here_… " He looked up at Walter as one fat tear rolled down his cheek. "Don't belong here… don't belong there… don't belong." He shook his head sadly. "I'm nowhere."

Broyles chuckled, then said in a singsong voice, "He's a real nowhere man, sitting in his nowhere land… making all his nowhere plans… "

"Stop it!" Astrid's voice rang through the lab. Everyone – even Peter – looked toward the diminutive woman in shock. "With all due respect, sir," she addressed Broyles, "Leave Peter alone." She stood in front of her much taller superior, and pointed to the stool he had previously occupied. "Sit." He sat obediently. He opened his mouth to speak. "Quiet," she commanded sharply. His mouth snapped closed.

Astrid approached Peter and Walter with the blanket she had found. When Peter shrank from her, she said, "It's okay, Peter. It's me. Astrid. You are most definitely _here_, and you most definitely _belong_ here. With us. With your family. Okay?" She reached out and touched his cheek. "Okay?" she repeated, smiling.

Peter looked at her, eyes wide, for a moment, and then nodded slowly. "I belong here."

"You better believe it, buster," Astrid grinned as she helped Walter wrap Peter in the blanket. "I didn't bake all those pies for nothing."

"You see, son? We're all here with you. You're safe now, and Olivia is going to be fine," Walter said, tucking the blanket around him snugly.

"Olivia… " Peter looked over at her sleeping form dreamily. "Olivia… I can't lose her. Not again… "

Astrid looked quizzically at Walter, who just shrugged, then said, "Why would you lose her? She certainly won't be angry with you. You helped her, son."

Peter shook his head impatiently, waving his hands. "No, no, you don't understand… " he protested, then shivered and fell silent. His brow furrowed yet again. "_I _don't even understand." He turned to his father, still confused yet slightly more lucid. "Walter?"

Walter smiled brightly. "I think he's turned the corner, Astrid. Thank you. Thank you so much, dear," he gushed, reaching out and squeezing Astrid's hand.

"Peter, you with us now?" Astrid asked.

Peter blinked and scrubbed his hand down his face. "Dunno," he murmured. "I got hit by a truck."

"_Oookayyyy_…" Astrid chuckled.

"No, seriously," Peter retorted. "In Olivia's mind." He rolled his neck on his shoulders slightly. "Damn, that hurt." His eyes lost focus again, and he swallowed hard. "Uh-ohhh…" he moaned.

"Trash can, Astrid," Walter requested calmly. She grabbed the nearest one and held it in front of Peter just in time for him to empty the contents of his stomach in spectacular fashion.

"Nice," Astrid said blandly as Peter looked up at her sheepishly.

"Sorry," he rasped.

"You're forgiven," she said tenderly, ruffling his hair. "I'll go get you some water."

Peter murmured his thanks and closed his eyes, sighing as he leaned back against Walter again. Walter took a moment to observe his son and ran his own hand through Peter's hair. _So like his mother's_, Walter thought as he fingered a curling strand. _Has her eyes, too - Irish to the core_. Unable to resist the urge, Walter bent his head closer, and placed a gentle kiss to Peter's temple.

"Aw, hell, Walter… " Peter groaned. "Come _on_."

Walter laughed. "Sorry, Peter. You're just cute when you're stoned."

"'m not stoned," he slurred.

"Oh, you're stoned, all right."

"Am not."

"Trust me, son. I'm an expert, remember? C'mon, let's get you up and moving a bit. You'll feel much better, and then you'll be ready to greet Olivia properly when she wakes up." He grasped Peter's shoulders firmly. "Up you go," he said cheerfully, as he yanked Peter to his feet.

"Whoa… " Peter swayed, his hands darting out from under the blanket grasping for something solid. Walter took his hand firmly. "And you used to do this all the time?"

"Oh, yes, all the time," Walter replied as they walked – or rather, shuffled – across the room. "Good times," he added wistfully.

"Oh, yeah, peachy," Peter replied sarcastically. He stopped, and turned back toward where Olivia still lay. "I wanna be near Olivia," he said, and stepped away from Walter, only to stumble. As Walter caught him again, Peter giggled, "Oops."

"You're all right son, easy now." Walter watched as Astrid pulled a stool from the corner and positioned it next to Olivia. "Here you go. You just sit yourself down right here and take it easy, okay?"

"Okay," Peter slurred as he plopped down onto the stool. He turned his gaze to Astrid, and gave her a loopy smile. "Hiya, Astrid."

"Hiya, Peter," Astrid answered, suppressing a laugh as she placed a bottle of water on the equipment stand nearby. "How are you doing?"

He nodded broadly, still smiling, his head bobbing up and down. "I'm good. I'm good. You're really pretty."

"Thank you," she said, genuinely touched despite the insanity of the situation. "So are you."

Peter snorted with laughter. "Thanks!" His smile faded. "Olivia's beautiful."

Astrid rubbed his back as he looked adoringly at his sleeping partner. "Yeah, she is."

They were quiet for a moment, and then Astrid noticed his focus shift. She followed his eyes to a nearby work table. "Gotta read that… " he mumbled, and started to stand up.

As he started to topple to his left, Astrid grabbed him, and balanced him back on the stool. "Hey, now, you stay right there. What do you want to read? I'll get it for you."

"That book. The brown one. There." He pointed at an old leather-bound book on the table.

Astrid walked the short distance to the table and picked it up. Holding it up, she said, "The Organon, Peter? Really? You're stoned to the gills – "

"I'm not stoned."

"You're stoned to the gills," she repeated , "And you want to read _Aristotle_? Really?"

"Read it already," he said as she handed him the book. "When I was," He squinted, swaying, and counted on his fingers. "A kid. Walter told me I should read it; it would 'clear my head of childish ideas.'" Peter stroked the leather book delicately, but suddenly his eyes widened, and he hastily handed it back to Astrid. "No, no. Wasn't Walter. I was _six_."

"Oh," was all Astrid could reply when she realized what that meant.

"A deduction is speech in which, certain things having been supposed, something different from those supposed results of necessity because of their being so," he droned.

"Right, whatever you say," Astrid agreed.

Peter laughed. "Not me. Aristotle!"

Joining in his laughter, Astrid corrected, "Right. Sorry. Whatever _Aristotle_ says. Kind of like Sherlock Holmes, huh? 'When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.'"

Peter grinned. "Precisely, Watson." Again, his smile disappeared as quickly as it came. "Some Sherlock I am." He laid his hand over Olivia's. "How could I not have noticed?"

"Peter," Astrid said, "You have to stop tormenting yourself about that. None of us noticed."

"But – "

"But, nothing." Astrid grasped Peter's chin and forced him to look at her. "She's forgiven you. It's been hard – it's been _awful_ - for both of you, but you got through it. She's here now, and you're together. And that's that. Got it?"

He nodded in her grip. "Yes, ma'am." The smile returned. "Wow, you're scary when you wanna be. I think Broyles is afraid of you now."

Astrid considered for a moment. "You think? Hmm… that might be fun."

"Ask for a raise," Peter whispered conspiratorially, nodding over at where Broyles had fallen asleep on a nearby work station. He suddenly looked down to where his hand was still holding Olivia's. "Hey, she moved."

"Involuntary muscle spasm?" Astrid asked, and then turned to Walter, who was looking at the brainwave monitor. "Walter?"

"I think she's coming around," Walter said with delight. "Higher functions are increasing." He rushed over to the others and watched intently.

Astrid looked over at Peter, and instead of happiness, she saw fear, and the hint of tears in his eyes. She rubbed small circles on his back again. "Hey, you ok?"

"What if something's gone wrong? What if _he's_ still in there? Or it's hurt her? Or she doesn't forgive me? Or…God, what if she doesn't remember us at all?" Peter shakily wiped away a tear that had threatened to fall.

"She'll remember us, son," Walter said confidently. "And whatever you did, she will forgive you. She loves you."

"Nah," Peter denied.

"Of course she does," Astrid added, nudging him. "And _she_ hasn't even seen you stoned."

"I'm not - "

Olivia's eyes opened. She looked at each of the people in front of her before her gaze settled on Walter. Hopefully, he said, "Olivia?"

She smiled at him. "Hi."

Giddy, Walter said, "You lie there and rest," and practically skipped over to the monitors. He looked at the readings through soap bubbles that Broyles, having awakened, had begun to blow. "One consciousness!" he crowed as Astrid joined him. "One glorious consciousness!"

Olivia took in the sight of a swaying Peter, his eyes half-mast and a goofy, love struck smile on his face. "What happened to me?" she asked him.

"What do you remember?" he said softly.

She returned his smile in kind. "I remember _you_…"


End file.
